Half Life 2: Dispersion
by Yellow Wedge
Summary: Freeman's dead; killed when his chopper was shot down. That's what the word is on the grapevine. The rebellion is in mourning. Meanwhile, an unnamed rebel soldier, disfigured beyond recognition, wakes up in an isolated outpost. My take on Episode 3.


Cold. Aching, biting cold which cuts into every pore on my body. It is a constant, numbing force: which has power over me and forces me to lie, helpless. What is worse than the cold, however, is the emptiness in my mind. My memories evade me like half-recalled dreams, only tenfold more frustrating. I try to open my eyes, but everything seems blurry and refuses to focus. Small white snowflakes, perfect and innocent, flutter around me like doves of peace, but I will not be soothed. I try to sit up but my body seems reluctant to respond to my orders; carrying them out but with a delay of almost a second. Instead, I content myself with rolling onto my side, but it is there that I realise that something is seriously wrong. The snow upon which I lie is stained a deep red, and even as I look at the macabre snow-angel I have created in my struggles, I realise that the blood is dripping from my head. Red lines run into my eyes and I am blinded. I try to call out for help, but none comes. I am dying here, in the snow, and I can't even remember my name…

---

"Ghnnn…" I grunted. Suddenly, everything seemed warmer and the sharp pain from my wounds had dulled to a distant throb. I moved one hand up to rub my eyes, and to my surprise it was not gashed and bleeding as I remembered it to be seemingly seconds ago, but clean and bandaged.

"So you're awake?" A voice said, from beside me. I could not see the speaker: my vision was still incredibly blurred, but from his words I could tell he was smiling; not unkindly. By the gravely tone, I guessed the man was in his forties, though I could not be sure. I opened my mouth to speak, but found that I could not utter more than a rasp. The man moved closer and I could see the vague outline of a human figure, silhouetted against some kind of table-lamp.

"Don't try to talk just yet: you need to get some rest."

I frowned, then rolled onto my side. I had so many questions: Where was I? Who was I? What was my purpose here? My recall was nearly as bad as it had been out in the snow: memories were still unobtainable: mocking me from a safe distance like cackling crows upon a telegraph wire. Gradually I fell into a troubled sleep, where faces I did not know faded in and out of my vision.

I awoke in the night, sweating and breathing heavily, but to my surprise I did not (for I could not) cry out. I merely sat there for a moment. There was no sign of my anonymous carer, and I decided it was not wise to wander about with my vision not functioning correctly. I lay back, and stared at the blur of the ceiling. A dim electric light was directly above me, and I supposed it must have cast enormous shadows upon the walls.

"_Good evening_."

I started. The chair beside me was now occupied. Again, I could not make out their features: they appeared to be a blue haze in humanoid shape. The voice which addressed me was not the kindly one of my carer, but a cold, harsh, monotonous one. Again, I tried to speak but my tongue seemed heavy and useless in my mouth.

"_Your survival of the tragic accident which befell you is no coincidence. For you see, while I am rather displeased at your stubborn attitude to my kind offer, it is not your time to die yet."_

I rasped out an incoherent slur.

"_Hush now, for my time here is limited and there is much to speak about…"_

The figure stood and performed some fumbling movement with his hands. I realised he was preening, brushing dust from his clothing. He turned from me and strode to one wall: gazing out through a window I could not see.

"_First and foremost, I know you must have a thousand questions" _he went on _"and I shall start by assuring you that your companion has survived the crash. She searches for you, many miles away as we speak."_

An image sprang into my mind for a fleeting moment. A woman with dark hair in a ponytail and a grey jacket. I could not put a name to the face, but she seemed very familiar.

"_As of the 'employment' we discussed last time I visited you, I have discussed our unusual circumstances with my colleagues. They agree that there are more pressing matters at present."_

I must have looked puzzled, for he laughed: a single cold peal like a death knell.

"_Do not be alarmed: all will become clear. I have left you a little…shall we say…'get-well' present? It lies beside you on that table…"_

I felt to my left and, sure enough, there was a small wooden table beside the bed. My hand felt across it and stumbled across something: metallic and thin. I dragged it towards me and, upon close scrutiny (placing the object millimetres from my eyes), I realised that they were a pair of steel-framed glasses.

"_As I said, your services are still required. Perhaps with clarity of vision, your path shall also become clear to you…"_

I heard creaking footsteps, then a door click shut nearby. I donned the glasses with trembling fingers, and was engulfed by the sudden rush of sight I thought I'd lost. With my vision came the memories. So many of them that I lay, paralysed once more. Voices, faces, sensations and pain, searing pain…

---

"_Welcome to City 17, it's safer here…"_

_A face, hard, bearded, cold eyes staring through the vast screen._

_Then there were men in black jumpsuits, with ghost-white masks and staring goggles. They were closing in, batons fell. White light flared, pain seared. Then it stopped. Cries of pain from other mouths and amplified by microphones echoed, and then a face, a woman's face, smiling down at me. _

_ Then another, a man in a haunted town, a priest, separated from me by a high fence. The dead were coming: closing in on the priest, but he showed no fear, in fact, he smiled grimly.. His words echoed in my mind:_

"_I fear I deliver you to a darker place, may the light of lights illuminate your path…"_

_Another flash of light._

_Nothing._

I saw all the things I had done, and tears began to roll down my cheeks: soaking the clean, white bandages which covered my face, mummy-like. I saw those who had fallen for my cause, and the terrible things which were in direct consequence of my actions:

_A tower, so vast and magnificent, in the middle of a huge metropolis. An explosion. All life extinguished._

_A man, in body armour, on a rooftop, directing the rebels to attack, to punch a hole in the combine lines and get out of the city._

_The woman again, the one with the ponytail and the smile. A hideous beast clawed at us through a panel in the wall, but could not reach us. She turned to me, smiling._

"_A Combine zombie… I guess you could call it a…Zombine?"_

_Then there was a train, more light and blasts. Mineshafts, stretching to eternity, and there were huge, floating creatures, uniting the soldiers, the 'Combine', and leading them to attack. Antlions: big insects, a great battle. My memories were rushing past like images glimpsed through the window of a car._

_A car…yes a car! I drove so far in the little yellow contraption. The woman sits next to me, but she is wounded! I feel guilt: if only I had protected her better._

_ A man. A man with one leg. He is the father of the woman. They embrace, we all share jokes and exchange stories. A voice in my head…in the woman's words:_

"_Prepare for unforeseen consequences."_

_ Alarms. Sirens. A raid? No…a full-scale attack! We rush to arms. We must defend the base!_

_Huge, spider-like monsters come against us, but we repel them, for we have nowhere to run._

_Finally! There is a red button. With one push of it, a rocket launches to the stars: to end it once and for all…victory…relief…tears of happiness!_

_No…not happiness…for they fall from the woman's face as she cradles a limp figure in her arms, on the cold floor of a warehouse._

"_Dad…" she sobs "Oh god…dad…"_

_And all through my memories, throughout the great journey I have undergone, there is a single name which stands out. Repeated again and again until it is a rhythmic beat in the back of my skull._

"Gordon Freeman."

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**_{[Remember to review, people! First chapter was a little short and boring, but things should speed up soon!]}_**


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